Written on Silk

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Clair laughed suddenly and laid her hand to the side of Arnaut’s handsome face. Their eyes held and Rachelle smiled, watching. They are still lovers; that is the manner of marriage I want.

  “Bonne weather in Florida,” Arnaut repeated. His gaze turned to Rachelle. “The marquis impressed me as being a man of much adventure when we met briefly in Calais. Did he not tell Bertrand he was going to Florida?”

  “I believe it is his intention,” she said, loathing the heat that came to her face. “He once said he had financially assisted Admiral Coligny’s colony there.”

  “Yes, Fort Caroline,” he said, still studying her.

  “He will be bringing a relief ship of supplies.”

  “But now he is engaged in a venture with Queen Elizabeth’s privateers against Spain,” he said.

  There was no accusation in his voice, Rachelle noted, just a statement.

  She remained silent. So he had told her père as well as Bertrand about it .

  “A very dangerous venture,” Clair said uneasily, her fair brows creased. “Does he have his own ship?”

  Arnaut spoke before Rachelle. “He does. A fine one; I caught sight of it at Calais. The Reprisal, I believe he calls it.”

  “I do not think the marquis will be settling down anytime soon,”Clair said. “He is likely to become another of Queen Elizabeth’s buccaneers. He may never return to France.”

  Rachelle tightened her mouth and kept silent. She knew her père was watching her.

  “He must come back sometime, Clair. He is a royal Bourbon with a marquisat in Vendôme, and he has duties to fulfill to his serfs.” He rubbed his chin, frowning. “What was it Sebastien wrote me recently about Florida . . . It escapes me, but I will read his lettre again.”

  Rachelle wondered too, her interest keen. What about Florida?

  Arnaut looked at Clair. “Did I tell you that Bertrand is on the marquis’ ship?”

  There was a gasp from both Clair and Rachelle. “Bertrand?” Clair said. “But did the marquis not voyage out with other privateers to attack Spanish war galleons?”

  Arnaut chuckled. “And sank them, so Sebastien wrote. Spain has brought the matter before the king and Queen Mother.”

  “The marquis is in a most risky position,” Clair said. “And Bertrand, if he is aboard, why, he could be held accountable.”

  “So he could,” Arnaut said thoughtfully. “Yet it was his deliberate choice to go aboard the Reprisal. ”

  “And the Bibles?” Clair arched her brows.

  “Will be delivered to Portsmouth. The marquis promised him. Bertrand should have a most interesting tale to impart when next we see him in London.”

  So, Fabien did aid Bertrand with transporting the Bibles.

  Rachelle was still thinking of Cousin Bertrand aboard Fabien’s buccaneering ship when she accompanied her parents in the calèche back to the château for the afternoon dinner.

  She had a suspicion that Bertrand may have had as much spiritual interest in the marquis as in delivering his Bibles. Perhaps he had decided his mission to the marquis was just as important?

  Rachelle’s hopes grew brighter. If Bertrand’s interest in Fabien was enough to prompt him to risk a buccaneering venture against Spain, then what did this tell her except that Bertrand knew of her love, was on her side, and hoped to win over Arnaut and Clair?

  In the days and weeks that followed, Arnaut pursued his urgent endeavors of research on how he could manage a voyage to England with mulberry plantings and silkworm larvae and eggs. He worked late into the evenings and made several short journeys to Paris and Fontainebleau to discuss these matters secretly with Sebastien. Sebastien had shown a great interest in the project, and with his contacts at Court and in the university, found men who met with Arnaut to discuss his project. When Arnaut returned to the château he seemed much more convinced that the project could be successful. He hoped to receive a message from Cousin Bertrand about land in a sunny location near Spitalfields.

  When Arnaut returned from one of his meetings with Sebastien and a certain group of like-minded monsieurs at Fontainebleau, Rachelle heard him telling Clair that grave difficulties loomed ahead for the Huguenots in France. He related what Sebastien had learned at Court, that their only hope for new freedoms rested with the upcoming colloquy in the fall.

  A few days later as Rachelle came down the stairs, she heard her parents in the grand salle speaking in worried tones. They were speaking of a religious civil war led in part by Huguenots on behalf of their gentry and serfs who were under great hardship and increased suffering for practicing their faith.

  Arnaut told Clair he now felt it imperative to make a trip to London to see the land near Spitalfields and to make plans for starting a silk plantation.

  “By now Bertrand should have returned to England.”

  There was also mention of the Hudson family’s help in the matter of securing land suitable for such an enterprise.

  Rachelle did not intend to listen to her parents’ conversation, but as she entered the atelier and began work on a gown, her parents continued their conversation in the next chamber with the door open.

  When next Clair spoke she did not seem enthused, though Rachelle knew she fully understood the growing need and supported her husband’s decision.

  Arnaut continued in an earnest tone, “Lady Hudson is most keen to meet you and our daughters. The gown for Queen Elizabeth has enthralled Lady Hudson. Sir James has not yet been able to see the queen, but the opportunity may come soon.”

  “What about Idelette? I cannot go away and leave her now with the child due in December. And Rachelle should not be laden with all the duties here.”

  “There is no reason why they should not come to England with us.”

  “Idelette would rather die than see James Hudson in her delicate position, Arnaut. The child shows now, as you have seen. It would be most shameful for her.”

  “Yes, by all means. Then she will do well with Madeleine and Sebastien. We will be back in France before the child is born. She will be among family and friends there, and Madeleine will know how to keep her well and comfortable.”

  “I admit that a visit to Madeleine would do Idelette well, and I do not want her to lose contact with the young monsieur, Andelot. A finer young man I have yet to meet, and now he has taken so much interest in Geneva.”

  The mention of Andelot Dangeau pricked up Rachelle’s ears. This was not the first time Clair had stated openly how much she liked him. She had been fond of him even as a child, but his religion had interfered. Recently he had written to Arnaut about Geneva and asked if he might read Calvin’s Institutes, which were first written as an apology to King Francis I in defense of the Reformation. Since then Calvin had expanded his work on doctrine and theology, and Andelot had written that he was hungry for learning after discovering a French Bible in the forest near Fontainebleau.

  The news of Andelot’s enlightenment had been received by the family with enthusiasm. Rachelle, because she thought of Andelot as a brother, was pleased for him. But Clair had taken the news with an interest in Andelot as a possible match for one of her daughters, and it appeared as though it was Idelette that Clair had in mind. Idelette knew little of Clair’s thoughts, but Rachelle felt Idelette might be secretly pleased.

  “I will write Madeleine and Sebastien about Idelette,” Clair told Arnaut. “But I think Rachelle should come with us to England. She has wanted to go since working on the gown for Queen Elizabeth, and I think she should spend time with Sir James Hudson. He is committed to the same faith as we, and is a couturier. With the merging of our family name, what better young man for Rachelle than James Hudson?”

  “I have high regards for James. And I think he may already have an interest in Rachelle. But what about the marquis? We both know, Clair, that she is love with him. I have seen it from the beginning in Calais.”

  “But Arnaut, he is a Bourbon, and a marquis. He is attracted to her, I could tell that when he was here. B
ut he cannot marry her. The Bourbons will no doubt insist he marry a princess. I see no hope of such a romance working into marriage. Rachelle will be hurt if this goes on much longer. And beside that, he is a Catholic.”

  “Perhaps he is, Clair, though his ventures at sea against Spain, as well as his support of Admiral Coligny, speak otherwise. However, I agree that James Hudson would be more suitable for our Rachelle, simply because of the marquis’s position.”

  “Then I shall speak to both our daughters this night about our plans.”

  In the atelier, Rachelle found that her heart was beating so fast she had to sit down. She gripped her scissors. Dismay filled her vision. James Hudson! She had naught against the comely young monsieur, in fact she had enjoyed his pleasant company.

  Even so, it was the marquis she wanted! Thoughts of marrying any man other than Marquis Fabien de Vendôme left her cold. If I cannot have him, I shall not marry.

  Where was he now? Would she ever see him again?

  If only I had been wiser and not thrown myself at him, demanding he swear his allegiance to me now. If I had let him go — and his love proved genuine, would he not have more easily come back? And that moment in Calais — her eyes moistened, and her heart was sick with love as she smelled the sweetness of jasmine coming through the window, remembering their almost-kiss, and how she had come alive to his touch. Now — gone, like everything else.

  Oh, where is my faith in God, in His guiding hand, in His good plans for me, for all of us who are His, including Fabien, for surely Fabien is as strong a believer in Christ as any of us.

  The mulberry leaves rustled like an orchestra awakening to the conductor. She leaned her head against the side of the open window that looked onto the arched colonnade of colorful patches of flowers in the garden. She prayed, again recommitting herself to His purposes.

  She prayed for Fabien. He must come back. She could not bear it if he did not!

  A Net Is Cast

  FONTAINEBLEAU PALAIS

  INSIDE THE ANTECHAMBER THAT CONNECTED WITH ONCLE SEBASTIEN’S appartement in the castle of Fontainebleau, Andelot prepared the herbal medicine that le docteur had prescribed for Sebastien’s weakened health. Once the quintessence of heartiness, Sebastien, since his months in the Bastille, now suffered from headaches and pains throughout his body. It is ungodly what they did to him in the name of religion, Andelot thought, revolted.

  As Andelot was measuring and mixing the medicine, the outer door opened from the public corridor and a guard looked in. Andelot recognized the young chevalier in ser vice to Comte Maurice Beauvilliers. The guard, appearing satisfied that it was safe for his seigneur, stepped back to permit the comte to enter the antechamber and closed the door.

  Andelot had recently discovered that Maurice’s mère, Francoise, who was Sebastien’s sister, had been urging Maurice to cultivate his relationship by marriage to Marquis Fabien, since association could elevate Maurice and Francoise as well.

  Maurice, however, was so jealous of the marquis that they remained at odds. For a season at Amboise, it had appeared that Maurice and the marquis might come to a peaceable camaraderie, but Maurice’s growing interest in Mademoiselle Rachelle had put an end to it.

  Andelot had heard one of the younger ladies-in-waiting to Madeleine say that Maurice had “ostrich eyelashes.” Now, whenever Andelot looked at Maurice he noticed his long lashes and looked away to keep from grinning. He would be in much trouble if Maurice knew that he found it très amusant.

  “Bonjour Cousin,” Andelot said, taking enjoyment in belaboring the point of relationship.

  Maurice made a generous display of his superior position by offering a laconic lift of a slender, jeweled hand to his feathered cap.

  “Bonjour, Andelot. Is mon oncle yet awake?”

  “Oui. I must take him his medicine. Then he will retire.”

  Maurice straightened the pink lace at his wrists. “I wish to speak with him. Have you not heard? Our Antoine de Bourbon may soon be in the favor of the cardinal and King of Spain.”

  Andelot was aware that while Prince Condé remained in the Amboise dungeon awaiting execution for treason, his brother Antoine, King of Navarre, was gaining favor at Court through his compromise. He was often seen in the company of the duc and the cardinal, and more recently with the Spanish ambassador. There were whispers that Antoine was about to give up his Protestant beliefs and attend Mass.

  “Has Prince Antoine unmasked himself as L’Echangeur?” Andelot asked. “Yesterday a Huguenot, today a Catholic, and tomorrow? Who can say?”

  “Ha, so you have heard what the Huguenots in Navarre are calling Antoine. That infuriates him, I assure you.”

  “The truth should convict his conscience rather than infuriate him.”

  “He vacillates, still,” Maurice said, his expression a mix of cynicism and amusement. “I am most sure he will eventually decide in Rome’s favor with la belle Rouet convincing him to cooperate with the Guises.”

  The belle Rouet, as she was called, was a chief member of the Queen Mother’s escadron volante. Sebastien had intimated that the Queen Mother had used her to lure Antoine into cooperating with her plans.

  Andelot felt sympathy for Antoine’s good Huguenot wife, the respected Queen Jeanne of Navarre, who remained wholly committed to the Huguenot cause. Her husband’s fall from marital faithfulness would grieve her deeply and injure the Protestant Reformation in France.

  “If Prince Antoine has compromised and exchanged one outer religious garment for another, it is a dishonor to both Catholics and Huguenots,” Andelot said, disliking Maurice’s amused smile. “But true faith, Monseigneur Maurice, cannot be shed like snake skin to humor kings or belles dames.”

  “Do not trouble me with religion, Andelot, for I find the squabbling between Catholics and Protestants most distasteful. It makes me wish to stay far from either of them. As for you,” Maurice continued, “you are sounding more and more like a heretic. You best be cautious, I swear it.

  You could not ask for a more dangerous flirtation while under the shadow of the cardinal than to be caught doing something heretical — like reading a French Bible.” He gave a dismissing flick to a piece of lint on his coat of brocaded red and black.

  Andelot glanced at him while mixing the herbal powder in Sebastien’s cup. Now why did he mention that? He could not possibly know about the copy he kept hidden among his things. As yet he had not been able to return it to the Huguenot pasteur. Or was it because he did not wish to give it up? He told himself he would, eventually.

  With an amused quiver of his lip, Maurice watched him stirring. “Still serving mon oncle Sebastien, I see? I pity you, Andelot. He can be a tedious man to please, of that I am certain.”

  “I have not found him to be so.”

  “Andelot, the loyal page,” he said with a small smile.

  Andelot passed over the mocking tone. “I hope so, Messire-Comte, as I am also a loyal cousin. Comte Sebastien has done much to aid me at Court. There is little more I would rather do than pursue my studies under a scholar like Thauvet.”

  Maurice waved a hand to show he had enough of the conversation.

  “Announce me to mon oncle, if you will.”

  “At this hour? The day, it has been long for our weary oncle. He is not strong, as you are aware — ”

  Maurice waggled his fingers. “The lettre I bring is worthy of his attention. He must see it tonight.”

  Andelot saw a gleam of smug satisfaction in his eyes. Something was afoot, and most likely unpleasant, coming from Maurice.

  “Shall I tell you my secret?” Maurice tilted his dark wavy head with a smile.

  If he showed his interest, he knew Maurice would deliberately hold back.

  Andelot pursed his lips. “I am certain mon cousin will say nothing unless he wishes to.”

  Maurice’s mysterious smile deepened. “My lettre,” he stated, “is from Princesse Marguerite Valois — who wishes most ardently to recall Mademoiselle Rachelle Macq
uinet back at Court posthaste. She wishes for a new wardrobe for her journey with the Queen Mother to Spain.”

  So, Maurice had managed somehow to fan the flame of Rachelle’s return. This, as Andelot saw it, was disturbing. After the attack on the Huguenot assembly at Lyon and the strange death of Grandmère and sickness of Madeleine, how could Maurice want her where danger stalked?

  “You frown like an aged wood chopper bending over his log, Andelot.” Maurice smirked, then waved a conquering hand. “You will see. Enough now, announce me to Oncle. It is important, as I have said.”

  Andelot swallowed his mottled pride and bowed his head, then entered a door into Sebastien’s apartments.

  Sebastien was at Fontainebleau alone, for Madame Madeleine and petite Joan were in Paris where he had wished them to remain, unless Madeleine decided to visit the Château de Silk. Although Sebastien had not said so, Andelot believed that Sebastien feared to have Madeleine here, so close to the Queen Mother. He appeared to tense each time she asked about them, wearing a strange amused smile. It made Andelot’s blood turn cold. Sometimes the Queen Mother played with Sebastien like a cat with a mouse. Andelot wondered why. She must have favored him at one time, and even after Amboise and the Bastille dungeon, she had reinstated him to her privy council.

  Andelot was with Sebastien enough to become convinced he did think the Queen Mother had poisoned his wife and Grandmère. Andelot had tried to introduce the topic of his own suspicions, but Sebastien had made it clear from the beginning that he would not discuss it, not even with Duchesse Dushane who had broached the matter when he and Andelot first arrived. Sebastien had rejected the notion of poison, but Andelot was now sure it was because he fully understood the danger.

  If Rachelle came to Court, would the matter remain hidden in the shadows? He thought not. This was yet another reason why Andelot was worried. Maurice was behaving most smugly, which meant to Andelot that his desires in having her at Court were on the verge of fruition.

  Andelot, disheartened, opened the door into the comte’s blue and gold apartment with Italian tapestry hangings and brocade furnishings of deeply carved, dark wood.